


Breathe

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Series: Whumptober 2019 [18]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Gen, Past Character Death, Prompt: Asphyxiation, smoke inhalation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 10:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21097721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: Jason thought he was somewhat over his death.He's still not over it.





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Asphyxiation

It was just a burning building. Nothing, really. Such a minor issue it’s usually left for volunteer firemen and common cops—not superheroes who have other lives to save.    
  
But Jason’s been going to this bookstore ever since he was a preteen who couldn’t tell the difference between Dickens and Dickinson. And when he saw smoke billowing from the windows while finishing up patrol with Bruce, he couldn’t sit by and do nothing.    
  
So he did what Jason Todd does best. He did something.    
  
The place consists of two stories (the kind that isn’t on paper) and both are caked in flames. He gets to work on rescuing the people on the second floor first, knowing that Batman will follow suit and work on the ground level. It’s a routine time hasn’t touched.    
  
Then, between the young adult and erotica sections, something weird happens. Something he should have expected but didn’t—no doubt the result of his own arrogance. His own death follows like the actual Death themself; shrouded in shadow and otherwise concealed so long as it’s not your time to go.    
  
Smoke billows up to the ceiling, thick and damning. It wafts around Jason’s helmet and makes the citizens hack into their elbows as he ushers them toward the exit. It makes his eyes sting even though he  _ knows  _ there are filters in his mask. He knows that.    
  
Just like he knows that his lungs shouldn’t burn the way they do because they are filled with clean, uncontaminated oxygen. He took precautions when crafting his Red Hood uniform the first time, knowing exactly what it felt like to suffocate to death. Not as fun as it sounds.    
  
He doubts the others know that nifty little detail. Would Bruce tell the newcomers about it? Or simply leave it as “Jason died in an explosion” all mysterious-like? Probably. Odds are the only ones who’ve seen the death certificate are Bruce, Alfred, and maybe Dick.    
  
No one else knows that the crowbar didn’t do it. The blood loss didn’t do it. Not even the explosion did it, though that part certainly hurt.    
  
Burns covered Jason’s battered body by the time the heat died down and he was left lying in a pile of rubble, dirt and debris surrounding him on all sides. He couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t even breathe.    
  
He couldn’t catch his breath with the smoke infecting his lungs, poisoning the air around him, filling...everything. Everything was smoke. Everything was the burn in his eyes and the scraping rasp in his throat, making even screaming impossible. Not that anyone would have heard him.    
  
Coughing was agony, but he couldn’t stop even as it jostled his broken ribs and made white spots scatter in his vision. He couldn’t catch his breath. The smoke was filling his mouth and nose, choking him with its razor blades.    
  
He imagines it took little time for him to die with the little oxygen able to reach his brain. A few minutes, maybe. And then one last, little slip, and like a smoky wisp he faded away.    
  
Now Jason bites back the memories, clenching his gloved hands. He can’t afford a lapse in objectivity now, not when he’s got a job to do. So he pushes through it best he can, taking deep breaths and reassuring himself that it’s fine, he’s fine, he’s not dying. His breaths are filtered. The smoke can’t touch him.    
  
He distracts himself with the absent realization that no one here is afraid of him. He’s fairly sure they should be, but once they see the hood it’s like a neon sign materializes above his head, announcing:  _ THIS IS A GOOD GUY. _   
  
Shocking.    
  
After one last sweep he finds a little girl crouched in a corner he missed, crying into her knees. The fire hasn’t yet reached this section of the building, but their time frame until it does is a short one.    
  
He quickly kneels beside her. “Hey. Come on, sweetie, we gotta go.” She can’t be more than five or six, and it’s why he’s not surprised when she only shakes and curls up tighter.    
  
Jason sits back on his heels, trying to think. Of course he could just carry her out, but he’s a tall guy. Carrying her will only make her more vulnerable to the smoke above, unlike here on the ground. And it’s clear she’s not moving on her own.    
  
Then he remembers his helmet and doesn’t stop to think it over as he reaches up and unhooks the clasp. “Here,” he says. He lowers the hood onto her head. “This will help you breathe better, all right? Now up we go.”    
  
He lifts the girl into his arms and wastes no time in getting to the exit, boots pounding. Already the smoke inhalation is getting to him, making his eyes tear up under the domino and his breaths turn into wheezes. Exactly how it happened the first time.    
  
_ Don’t think about that,  _ he tells himself.  _ You can’t lose it yet. Get her out, and then you can break down all you want.  _   
  
The moment he bursts outside, it’s like emerging from underwater. Or lava. The fresh air soothes the burn in his eyes, and he sucks down oxygen in gasps. A fireman takes the girl from his arms, and the moment she’s gone Jason falls to his knees, fingers curling on the pavement.   
  
_ I can’t breathe.  _ __   
__   
There’s plenty of air around him, but it’s like the smoke has infected him, body and soul.  __   
__   
_ Why can’t I breathe?  _ __   
__   
He doesn’t care if the bystanders are watching or not. He doesn’t care.  __   
__   
_ I’m going to die.  _   
  
He knows logically that the smoke is gone, he’s all right, but he can still  _ feel  _ it—feels it thick in his throat, reaching into his lungs with sharp claws and burning everything it touches.    
  
A heavy hand lays itself on his back, and Jason can’t find the strength to push it away. His chest quivers with every panicked cough.    
  
“Breathe, Jay,” a calm voice says, quiet enough that no one will hear but Jason. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”    
  
Jason’s shaking now. He tries to get a grip on himself, but every thought is filled with memories of his death, of choking on smoke and wanting nothing more than to stop breathing altogether. Wanting the burning and the lightheadedness and the fear to just  __ stop.    
  
Tears spill beneath his domino, but Bruce doesn’t say a word. Just rubs Jason’s back and rumbles reassurances that he’s okay, everything is okay, just breathe.    
  
And because it's Bruce, Jason is stupid enough to believe him. 

He breathes.    
  


**Author's Note:**

> [Feel free to mosey on down to my Tumblr!](http://sohotthateveryonedied.tumblr.com/)


End file.
